


I Was Born To Win

by Drarrymadhatter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/pseuds/Drarrymadhatter
Summary: It's 8th year at Hogwarts and the air is buzzing with excitement as Draco Malfoy plays Harry Potter for the ping pong championship!
Kudos: 1





	I Was Born To Win

I Was Born To Win

The eighth-year common room was buzzing with restless energy as they waited for the match to continue. Firewhisky was being drunk like it was Butterbeer and even Hermione, usually so uptight with regards to propriety, was happily tipsy, and thoroughly enjoying the competitive spirit. Ron found himself half-amused and half-frightened by his girlfriend as he watched her morph from polite and proper to a bloodthirsty loon screaming for Harry to _finish him and score a bloody point, for Merlin's sake!_ She looked so incensed on Harry's behalf that he fancied he could see electricity crackling around her bushy locks.

However, Hermione's baying and cheering was nothing compared to the former Slytherin contingent of the spectators, who had arranged themselves in a line and were waving signs which ranged from supporting Draco, their champion, their prince, to declaring all out war upon anyone who dared challenge him. Pansy's sign was particularly impressive in how it managed to conjure up both painful and original images in the viewer's head. Goyle's sign, however, leaned more towards the visual, and merely displayed two stick figures, one with an 'S' above its head throttling the one with an 'G' above its head. As much as it was simple, those who viewed it couldn't doubt its effectiveness.

If one happened to look past the obvious and loud members of the crowd, Seamus could be found at the back of the room, surrounded by a rowdy group of students all determined to place their bets before Seamus declared the books closed. It was becoming hectic, frantic, and highly personal, with the pot reaching a tantalising eighty-three galleons. The majority of people, unsurprisingly, had opted to place their money on Harry. To be fair, it was sound thinking, after all he was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, and a darn good seeker to boot. However, this wasn't Quidditch or the Dark Arts he was up against. This was ping pong, and Draco had been the reigning champion throughout the eighth year so far. This being the last game left of the year, everyone was hoping Harry could knock the former Slytherin off his pedestal.

Even the usually quiet members of the crowd were wound up. Neville had completely abandoned his book on Rare Algae of the Seven Seas and was hoping anxiously from foot to foot. Ernie and Hannah, usually shrinking violets, were waving their hands above their heads and singing the lyrics to the Valentine Ginny had sent Harry in his second year. Of course, this merely prompted Dean Thomas to threaten them to shut up lest they put their champion off! It could be argued that he did have a point. After all, who could concentrate when their hair colour was being compared to a blackboard?

All in all, given the frenzy the crowd was working itself into, it was a sadistic time for an intermission and the air practically thrummed with excitement as the spectators willed the players to stop their posturing and get on with it!

"Well, Potter, are you ready yet?" demanded Draco, as he threw down his sweat towel and picked up his bat, twiddling it nimbly around his long pale fingers.

"I was born ready, Malfoy," claimed Harry in between desperate sips of water.

"Indeed." Draco's unusually loud drawl could be heard above the din, as if he had yelled it from the top of the Astronomy tower. "Well, be that as it may, _you_ may have been born ready, but _I_ was born to win!"

"Uhuh," grunted Harry non comittally, running his gaze over Draco's flushed features and sweat logged fringe. "Looks to me like you were born to pass out, but whatever. Less trash talk, more action, Malfoy."

With that, Harry picked up his bat and both players eyed each other predatorily as they took their places on their allocated sides of the table and waited. Dean, catching the cue for him to get things going, pointed his wand at his throat and amplified his voice, causing many spectators to jump in fright.

"Right everyone! The last round is about to begin! Please note that the books are now closed. Seamus, if you please."

"Right you are, Dean," answered Seamus, having also amplified his voice. "The pot stands at 12 to 1 on Harry winning. Let's hope that one student, whomever they may be, doesn't win or we'll be bankrupt! Eh Dean?"

"True that, true that! Now, silence everyone as much as possible. Those who are still singing that ridiculous Valentine can you _please_ shut up? No one cares if Harry's eyes are like a fucking toad or not!"

"Very true, I personally don't care what colour eyes our Saviour has, as long as he uses them to keep his focus on the game!"

"Remember people, this is the last round! It's a deuce at 10/10, and the first player to gain a lead of two points wins!" At Dean's words, the crowd erupted in a mighty cheer, with odd words of encouragement making their way through to the two tired and tense players.

"Silence!" called Seamus imperiously, resulting in a deafening hush. "Draco, your serve."

Draco took a moment to feel the weight of the ball and bat in his hands, letting himself enter an almost zen like zone.

"Come on, Malfoy, quit fondling the bloody ball and serve!" The agitation in Harry's voice could be heard clearly. Draco could understand that. This was ping pong, after all. And ping pong was personal.

"I'm simply becoming one with the ball, Potter, not that I expect you to understand!"

"One with the ball? What the hell is that meant to mean?" demanded Harry incredulously.

"Why, you scared Potter?" Draco would usually have smirked those words at Harry, as he usually did when he was pitted against his old nemesis, but he was too focused, wired, his muscles taut and poised like a coiled snake ready for the strike.

"You wish, Malfoy!" Similarly, Harry barely whispered the words, his green eyes blazing like electric charged emeralds as he rocked from foot to foot, trying to keep his tired muscles from seizing. They locked eyes, their lips thin, their brows wrinkled, their chests puffing shallow breaths into the already thick and warm air. The corner of Draco's mouth twitched slightly, and that was all the warning Harry had, as the boy served the ball with alarming speed and agility for someone who had been playing for hours almost non stop.

"And we're off!" declared Dean, as his eyes followed the progress of the ball carefully. "A nice fast serve from Malfoy, met steadily by Harry, and Draco retaliates. Oh very nice form, don't you think Seamus?"

"Absolutely, the way both the players carry themselves is highly impressive. See how Malfoy is graceful, almost like a dancer? Ooof! That was almost a point there to Harry! Good save at the last minute there by Malfoy, and yes there's some force behind that bat."

"I agree, he's annoyed he almost let the point in. Don't blame him, really. He's likely sick of Harry beating him at everything else."

"Well, Malfoy _is_ the undefeated champion. The odds _are_ on his side."

"Wow!"

"Would you look at that!"

The crowd had erupted at the sight of Draco scoring a point against Harry, who looked furious with himself.

"That's a point! Well done Malfoy, one more and the match is yours!" called Dean, determined to stay impartial. Seamus, however, had no such qualms.

"Uch, don't worry Harry, you'll get the next point surely. You always beat him after all."

"And Malfoy's serving again." reported Dean. This is it! If he gets this then it's all over. You'd best be on your toes Harry!"

The two players slung the ball back and forth, grunting with exertion. When suddenly, Malfoy swatted the ball to the left after feigning right, and ended the game. The crowd went wild, the game had surpassed anything ever experienced within the common room, the jeers and boos and yells of encouragement ricocheting off the walls at near dangerous decimals.

"How?" demanded a flabbergasted Seamus, as Malfoy was lifted by his friends onto their shoulders and paraded around the common room.

"What! It's all over folks! Malfoy beat Harry! Whoever bet Malfoy would win is one lucky sod! All I can say is, the drinks are on them!"

As the room worked its way into a frenzy of happy cries and wails of despair, Harry smiled tiredly at the sight of Malfoy being carried around the room and praised for his prowess. Malfoy deserved it, and anyway, he had some winnings to collect. Well, he was almost placed in Slytherin after all.


End file.
